


Under Pressure

by GankingMonsters (FireHawke)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Wincest if you squint, however you bbies wanna take it, or a precursor to wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireHawke/pseuds/GankingMonsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a prompt on Tumblr for something fluffy. There's feels involved, too. I enjoy emotional fluffiness. </p><p>Set between 1.10 - Asylum and 1.11 - Scarecrow. </p><p>It's difficult, driving with Sam's words echoing in his ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Pressure

They had been driving for what felt like forever, the day when things finally cracked and released the pressure between them. In reality, they had only been burning pavement for a few hours. They were trying to haul ass as quickly as they could from Rockford. Away from the Asylum. Away from where Sam’s words echoed in Dean’s ears. 

Sam had been twitchy in the seat next to him, nose in a book, though Dean knew that his brother was just as distracted as he was, with the giant elephant in the car. The air is stifling, and even though there’s Zeppelin playing, Dean feels like every movement is magnified; even the swallows he takes of Coke are loud. 

He’s glad the windows are rolled down, warm air hitting him in the face, even though it’s only the beginning of April. The further South they go, the more Dean feels he can breathe easier. 

 

It’s in Kentucky when Dean spots the carnival. In the Western states, they’d call it a fair, but Dean knows better. That’s a damn Carnival. 

The slowing of the car jerks Sam’s attention away from trying to be distracted in the book and he looks up towards the road before glancing at Dean questionably. 

“Let’s go have some fun, Little Brother.” Dean maneuvers Baby into a spot and nearly congratulates himself on such a fuckin’ awesome parking job. 

“—But Dean, we don’t have the money. The cards are maxed out and—” Damn. Dean can practically taste the stress rolling off of Sam now that he’s begun talking. A glance at the clock tells him that they haven’t talked in over seven hours. Dean would do the math, but that would involve his fingers and few extra seconds he doesn’t want to waste.

“S’okay, Sammy.” He holds a hand out, afternoon sun bouncing off the cars around them and making him squint against it when he takes his sunglasses off to stash them on the dash, “I got some rainy day money. We’re okay.” His tone is comforting, though light. He kept it light on purpose, practically straining with the effort of it. 

The words hang in the air with Sam’s face looking unsure as Dean opens the door into the humidity of early Spring. He breathes in deep, glad to have a bit more space to even just make noise. He’s around back, digging through the trunk when Sam steps up against the side of the car and he pulls out almost a grand of cash, stashing a little less than half. 

“Dean, listen.” Sam starts, voice wavering, “I know I already apologized, but you —” Dean cuts him off with a huff and a slam of the trunk, turning to his brother’s concerned face. Obviously it was weighing heavily on both of them, no matter what Dean had said when Sam first apologized.

“Sammy, stop. ‘S like you said. You couldn’t control it.” Dean raised his eyebrows, shrugging. 

“But that doesn’t mean that you deserved to hear it. That I’m okay for saying it.” He shuffles on his feet and looks down at the gravel, the light tapping the only sound around them as he kicks a rock, “I know we don’t agree on finding Dad, but,” he sighs and sniffles, “I would’ve killed you back there.” his voice wavers as he tilts his head up to look at Dean through his bangs, and damn it all, he’s got tears in his eyes. Big, fat tears by the looks of it, and they look like they’d taste like despair and self loathing, too. Typical Winchester tears.

Dean sighs again and shakes his head, “But you didn’t. Okay? I took precaution and I’m here.” He raises his hands out to either side of him, “Still breathin’.” he lets his typical smirk back on his face and steps closer to Sam, “Now c’mere you freakin’ girl and let’s hug it out.” 

He pulls Sam to him and hugs him tight around his shoulders, clapping him on the back, “Still here, Sammy. It’s okay.” He mumbles to try and comfort more, to pull his brother back from the edge of crying. 

There’s a huff of air next to his ear where Sam has dug his face further into Dean’s shoulder and a soft jerk of his shoulders as Dean realizes that his brother had been carrying around a lot of guilt, the past couple of hours. “S’okay, Sammy.” He mumbles again and pats his back softly before he feels him start to pull away. 

He watches Sam wipe his tears and snot away on his sleeve and he checks his shoulder haphazardly, “You better not have used me as a Kleenex, dude, ‘cause that’s gross.” He says, wiping fingers across the curve of his jacket, coming away slightly wet. Sam chuckles, though it fades quickly.

“C’mon, bitch. I’m gonna pwn you at sharp shootin’.” That earns an eyeroll and Sam’s already fallen in line next to him, still sniffling. 

“Jerk.” he says, shoulders bumping into each other’s before their steps sync up. 

 

Sam is warm and loose from the beers they had with dinner, hanging from Dean while Dean unlocks the motel door. Dean drags his younger brother to his bed - the one farthest from the door, because Dean always took the one closest now that Dad was gone. 

“God, you weigh a ton.” he complained as Sam flopped onto the bed, smacking his lips as his equilibrium changed and compensated now that he was horizontal. 

“You callin’ me fat?” Sam asked, smile on his face as he tilted his head to crack open his eyes and look at Dean, shoving his foot around to try and knock it against Dean’s. 

Dean easily sidestepped the kick and raised his eyebrows, “Maybe I am, but it’s not like you can do anything about it.” He smirked and turned, “‘M gonna bring our stuff in. Don’t choke on your own vomit.” he called out before stepping back through the doorway, pulling it closed, but not latching it.

By the time he came back in, Sam had managed to get all his layers off, ‘cept his shirt and boxers, though he was still on top of the covers. 

“C’mon, Princess, under the covers you go.” Dean tapped the outside of one of his thighs, pulling Sam’s covers down to make it easier for him to slide under. He groaned, but followed Dean’s order. 

Dean was about to turn and start on the wards, when Sam’s hand closed around his wrist, jerking him back to look at his face. “You’re not pathetic, Dean.” he mumbled, eyelids heavy as he blinked them.

That broke the final piece of whatever this was that Dean was carrying around all day and he sighed, smiling softly. “Glad you think so, Sammy.” He mumbled before simultaneously pulling Sam’s grasp from around his wrist and laying his arm down, while he leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to killersmurff.tumblr.com for the prompt. It was surprisingly easy to write, though I've never delved into younger Dean before. 
> 
> Title from the Queen & David Bowie song.


End file.
